"They's something queer about him," muttered the deputy.
"He may be word-shy," proffered a wit, "but he sure ain't gun-shy!"
"When he looked at me," said the deputy, more to himself than to the
others, "it seemed to me like they was a swirl of yaller come into his
eyes. Made me feel like some one had sneaked up behind me with a knife."
In his thoughtfulness his eyes wandered, and wandering, they fell upon the
notice of the reward for the capture, dead or alive, of Daniel Barry, about
five feet nine or ten, slender, with black hair and brown eyes.
"My God!" cried the deputy.
But then he relaxed against the counter.
"It ain't possible," he murmured.
"What ain't possible?"
"However, I'm goin' to go and hang around. Gents, I got a crazy idea."
He had no sooner started toward the door than he seemed to gain surety out
of the motion.
"It's him!" he cried. He turned toward the others, white of face. "Come on,
all of you! It's him! Barry!"
But in the meantime Harry had gone on swiftly to the office of the
sheriff with "Joe Cumber.
Pages:
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259